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FROM THE BEAULY FIRTH TO LOCH DUICH. BY REV. R. M. CAIRNEY. WE sallied forth from Beauly one afternoon last July on a good stout touring wheel. Our kit (packed on a Turner rear carrier) included maps, compass, some strong twine, spirit lamp, cocoa, Pitman's banana biscuits, etc., with toilet brushes on a miniature scale, and a change of underwear. Strapped in front we carried a pair of stout moor boots and a poncho, and felt ready for any- thing. Not speed, but efficiency and comfort were our aim. Two miles of tree-lined road through Lord Lovat's well- wooded and well-tilled lands brought us to Kilmorack church, and the deservedly famous gorge and falls of the same name. The Beauly is not a large river, but it is never, even in midsummer, without a fair volume of water, owing to the number of considerable lochs which overflow into it. The view of the lower falls is not the best, but with the farm steading and the mill a pleasing picture is made up. A few hundred yards further on is a notice-board, directing the tourist down a field side to a charming summer-house perched upon a bold bluff which looks down precipitously upon the deep pools of the upper falls in the gorge beneath. Here we sat down to a dainty afternoon tea with buttered bread and cakes. A giant silver fir, that might be a couple of hundred years old, makes a noble roof over the tea tables laid out al fresco. The ladies who provide this elegant refreshment are descendants of two generations of ministers Theof Kilmorac Cairngormk parish, and have been granted thClube use of this romantic summer-house by the present incumbent. The house is a substantial stone structure like a little tower, and was built by the grandfather of the ladies as a quiet retreat for study. We sat dreamily feasting eyes and ears and all our senses, physical and moral, in that scene compacted of grandeur and luxuriant beauty. The roar of the rapids, reduced by summer drought and subdued by distance beneath, From the Beauly Firth to Loch Duich. 25 was like an organ pedal accompaniment to the song of finches and mavises overhead; and the scent of firs and flowers was sweet. When we resumed our way westwards we found that the sun had run much of his day's race while we worshipped in this sweet temple of nature. We now ascended Druim Pass. From Teanassie House, where a glimpse of Beaufort Castle roof is seen, to Aigas House, is romantically beautiful, and well worth coming to see for itself. The road is here cut through the old red sandstone conglomerate rock for a considerable distance. The steep banks of the Beauly are thicketed on both sides. Vegetation is luxuriant and varied, and rich colours abound. The Beauly glen should be a paradise for botanists as well as landscape painters. We passed the Eilean Aigas, an island in the Beauly, in which stands a house noteworthy as having been lent as a residence by the Jacobite Lord Lovat to the brothers Sobieski—two grandchildren of the "Pretender." A short run brought us to the entrance to Erchless Castle and then to Struy village. A quaint old village it is ! The Catholic Faith is a conservative one, and seems to have cast a spell of old fashioned "content with things as they are " over this little green spot. The peace of still life reigns. Even the children are quiet as well as respectful. The main road here grows its quota of grass for the cows to graze in their saunter homewards. The old one storeyed Catholic school, with its diamond-paned windows peering out from its thick mantle of ivy, sits sleepily on a carpet of bright green turf, that through age is springy to the foot. The little inn, which has only a porter and ale licence, is surrounded by a kitchen garden. A few low thatched cottages make up the rest of the village. As we pass out of it, two marks of more modern and much less picturesque life frame the quaint Theold picture, thCairngorme new post office and the three storeyed Club, slate- roofed, new board school for protestants. We pursued our way singing Sir Walter Scott's Captive Huntsman, "My hawk is tired of perch and hood." A run of seven miles along a good and pleasant road brought us to Invercannich Hotel which is called sometimes Glen Affric Hotel. Our river, which for the last seven miles 26 The Cairngorm Club Journal. has borne the name of the Glass, is here augmented by the Cannich, which rises on the north side of Sgurr nan Ceath- reamhnan and flows through Loch Lungard and Loch Mullardoch. At Cannich it passes between high perpendicular walls of rock in a very picturesque manner. The rock looked, in the distance, like conglomerate. Glen Cannich (glen of the " cotton grass ") is, I believe, worth a tramp for a few miles to lovers of glen scenery, but declining soon to bleakness, it bears no comparison with Glen Affric. Evening was now advancing rapidly, so we pushed on to reach Achagate where we hoped to get quarters for the night. Two miles beyond Invercannich we passed on the left the road which, crossing the Glass, leads to Guisachan House, in the heart of Guisachan Forest. Our road now enters the Chisholm Pass, ascending rapidly from Fasnakyle up the course of the river Affric. We heard the roar, but did not venture far to explore the beauties, of the Dog Falls. Danger boards bearing the legend, " Keep back, rocks under-, mined, sometimes give way," took away our nerve. As far as Achagate we had for companion a native lad mounted on one of the tall ponies which had been through the campaign in Africa with Lord Lovat's Scouts. When we reached Achagate, ach!—we learned to our chagrin that we had been forestalled by some guests just arrived from England. We were hospitably entertained to a good supper, but had to turn out again, and face the six miles that lay between us and Affric Lodge—the next human habitation. After Achagate the road becomes merely a well-made bridle path. Horses do not require that the hillocks and the gullies of the mountain torrents should be levelled ; nor are bridges absolutely necessary. We therefore did not Thefind an y Cairngormsuch luxuries; it was a dark ride, and extremel Cluby lumpy, though by day and with plenty of time it would have been beautiful. Loch Beinn a' Mheadlioin, deeply set among hills, was exquisite even under the stars. Grand old pines and fairy-like ashes and birches, with the sturdy alder, clothed its sides, and it lay among them placid, reflecting the brighter stars. But that stony switchback road, crossed by a score of mountain torrent-beds, required, in the dark, Photo by Arthur Simpson. AT LOCH AFFRIC. The Cairngorm Club Photo by Arthur Simpson. LOCH DUICH AND THE FIVE SISTERS OF KINTAIL. From the Beauly Firth to Loch Duich. 27 constant vigilance. We plunged along, alternately laughing and wincing over occasional spills, reaching a cottage at Affric Lodge about ten o'clock. Here, pity for our weary condition, consideration of the fact that the next house is Alltbeath, 71/2 miles further, and that the path is a good deal worse than what we had already experienced, opened the door of hospitality. Affric Lodge is a beautiful shooting box, built on a neck of land which almost divides Loch ASric into two near its eastern end. The lodge is on the western side of the peninsula and looks westward up some miles of the loch; our cottage on the other side of the peninsula faced eastwards. Just below is the boat slip and a little pier, and the eastern section of the loch stretches away for a mile or so in full view. It was near midnight when I looked out, and the large round moon had risen, glowing yellow, above the dark hill range of Guisachan, and fell in a lane of golden beams along the lake. Jupiter shone like a lamp not far from her, and cast his reflection also upon the placid mirror. A few stars twinkled between the floating islands of fleecy clouds, while the silhouette of the dark hills upon the deep blue sky completed a picture of holy calm and rare beauty. After such a scene, sleep came upon me like a mantle of peace. In the morning we enjoyed the splendid panorama of lake and mountain giants in the west. We readily distinguished Tigh Mor, Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan, Mam Sodhail, Beinn Fhada, and Sgurr Fhuaran, a notable assemblage of Highland magnates. Breakfast at seven, a Highland farewell, and we were off, having for new companion the Rev. A. E. Robertson. That distinguished mountaineer had been early astir, having Theridden that morninCairngormg from Cannich Hotel. We trundle Clubd our machines in Indian file along the switchback bridle path to Allt Coire Leachavie. There Mr. Robertson left us, to proceed to Alltbeath, while we set our faces for the summit of Mam Sodhail. One comfort of these Highland solitudes is their very solitude. You may bathe where you list, and leave your property on the hill side for a day without fear. There are no intruders on one's privacy save red deer and flies, and 28 The Cairngorm Club Journal. no thieves to ride away with one's wheel. From our starting point to the summit of the Mam (3862 feet) is about 21/2 miles as the crow flies, there being a fairly good foot track following the course of the Leachavie on its left bank.

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